


Empty Shell - or why the seaside is no place to spend a holiday

by DoctorDalek



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga), Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Sex, Barebacking, Caretaking, Coma, Dark Humor, Dark Past, Destinyshipping, Extremely Dubious Consent, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mild Gore, Oral Sex, Post-Season/Series 02, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Depression, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27268522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorDalek/pseuds/DoctorDalek
Summary: Life goes on. Until you switch off the machine.Edo can hardly stand himself when he's in a mood like this.Weirdly enough life does go on even if his childhood friend is lying in his bed and remains unresponsive during his visits.Stagnation. Darkness. Despair.When all Edo wants is to hold Saiou close to him...
Relationships: Edo Phoenix | Aster Phoenix & Saiou Takuma | Sartorius, Edo Phoenix | Aster Phoenix/Saiou Takuma | Sartorius
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's no rain that won't stop. That's what Saiou had promised.  
> But now that he's hospitalized and in a vegetative state doubts cloud Edo's mind. Edo feels lost and betrayed. And can't fathom to understand why he's so fond of Saiou. 
> 
> I originally started writing this story about two years ago after I've been introduced to the amazingness that is Yu-Gi-Oh GX. Now it's almost finished. 
> 
> Unlike in my other stories this one's protagonist, Edo, is very melancholic and negative. He has a tasteless humour and is self-righteous.  
> There is no light-hearted banter or fluff. The sex scenes are different, too.   
> Nevertheless I do hope you enjoy what you read (￣ω￣)

The seaside is no place to spend a holiday, is it?

For as long as I can remember I’ve hated the beach. I hated going to the beach with my father. I hated the shore with its sand and the sea shells. The scrunching noise beneath your feet...

Ugh. I feel the nausea coming back at the mere thought.   
It were the shells that were giving me the creeps.   
My father had told me about it when I was little. Perhaps too little.    
But it’s never too early to learn about life and death, right? At least that’s what my father must have believed...

Shells are bones. The shore is the marine life’s graveyard lacking a gravedigger. Every clam, every little conch you see has once been alive. A living animal protected by its shell. Bivalves really are amazing, aren’t they? And so many seashells hidden under the sand...   
As a child the idea had been enthralling. How many of them must be in the ocean, those must have been my silly boyish thoughts. And how many millions must have already died so long ago while their shells are still remaining...?   
Their beauty is what remains; their fantastically shaped sheaths, each one individually special.    
And as the delicate things that they are they would break and shatter if not handled with care...

I can’t look at them without being reminded of death.   
And though I must agree that their prettiness is stunning I can’t see shells being turned into jewellery. I, for once, wouldn’t feel comfortable with human bones hanging round my neck even if they were set in silver.   
Though I venture to doubt that the plastic leash wrapped around your throat that is chaining you to this bed is any better...

The thing around your neck really is bothering me. They had to cut open your throat to get it in there, didn’t they? I wonder if that hurt...   
My fingers are drawn to the oddly shaped plastic protruding from Saiou’s neck. A tracheostomy tube. Like an artificial wind pipe. Only that they need a machine to pump in and suck the air out of your body.   
The vibration resonating in my finger tips makes me feel nauseous. I’m forced to draw back my hand.

Silence. Except for the droning of the machine, pumping by rote.

The smell of cleaning agent in your room still disgusts me. It’s something I’ve learned to dread.   
I don’t think they really need to clean your room that frequently, do they?   
It’s not a matter of hygiene; it’s a matter of covering up the stench of decay, the reek of dried blood and cheap plastic and rotting flesh and  _ fear _ .    
A stench that’s stinging my eyes and sends the tears rolling down my cheeks.   
You don’t mind me crying, do you? I must have seen  _ you _ cry a hundred times before. Though it’s not the same with you, I know...

I would have expected my father to be dead right away. I still believe that he was already dead when I discovered him, that there was no life left in his body, the way he lay there, transfixed and convulsed while clutching a card, his  _ masterpiece _ ...    
But he wasn’t pronounced dead at the scene so they kept plunging tubes and needles into him, shocked him... They must have done more horrible things than that but I can’t really remember. My mind had shut down after I had seen my father twitching under the defibrillator’s surge.   
If only back then you could have put up your umbrella and protected me from seeing this...

My gaze drifts over your still body, but barely touches upon your lackadaisical expression.

Something had gone wrong and KaibaCorporation’s consultants had opted for an operation. Experimental surgery. They probably shouldn’t have tried to fix you. I don’t think anyone could have fixed you. You were broken from the start.   
You used to say something like that yourself, remember?   
Your stubborn and superstitious mind had merged into the Light possessing your body. There weren’t two parts of you fighting for domination over your mind. Those two sides had fused to become one. One monster. Conjoined. Indestructible and inseparable.

You wouldn’t have expected a different choice of words from a pro duelist, would you?

But they couldn’t sort out your mind. They tried but they couldn’t.   
They tried taking away everything that was still the Light inside you, tried removing everything it had gained control over,  _ everything _ that had been you...

It’s so weird not knowing whether you’re still there or not.   
Not like that. That’s not what I meant. I know you’re still there, I can see you lying stiff on this bed with your sunken features and your skin as pale as...   
God, here come the tears again.    
Wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand I wonder if the stains on my sleeve will ever disappear.

Your skin has taken on a sallow tone. Somehow resembling the brightness and glow that had surrounded you as long as you had been in the Light’s grasp.   
Only it looked less sickly and ashen. 

Your heart is still beating. Constantly my eyes are drawn to the rhythmic pulsing on the monitor, the steady waves that assure me that there’s  _ something _ still running inside.   
Your life existing on a screen.    
If I hadn’t turned off that constant beeping sound it would have driven me insane. I’ll turn it on again as soon as I leave, I promise. But I can’t stand to hear your heartbeat like that. An electric sound instead of the thumping of a muscle...

My head sinks against your chest while I keep staring straight ahead, my mind empty and cold.   
Cold like your hand that’s so unresponsive to the touch of my nestling fingers.   
But I try not to feel it; I shut my eyes and try to feel the warmth _within_ you, the warmth and life that _has_ _to be inside you_.   
Somewhere. 

What else is there left for me to do than listen to you breathing?


	2. Chapter 2

If precious things break...their beauty’s lost forever.   
How do you preserve beauty, true beauty, I wonder?   
By not touching it?   
By keeping it perfectly safe and shielding it from the world’s cruelty?   
Or by not allowing it to wilt and wither...?   


* * *

Your hair looks greasy again, Saiou.   
I know; definitely the first thing I should notice while sitting down on your bed.   
Not a place for me to get comfortable anyway since I forgot to turn off the cardiac monitor’s sound again.    
There, much better.

Still. It’s strange seeing you like this. Your unaltered appearance.    
The black eye has almost vanished. Just a slight bruising under your left eye hints at the surgical procedure that’s been performed on you.   
They didn’t mill the base of your skull but pierced it right beneath your brow ridge. A special type of keyhole surgery. Or something like that.    
But I’m not really comfortable with minimally invasive surgery. It’s an attempt to deceive, to play down the horror’s true extent. Such a tiny incision...   
I guess I can’t complain, though. This way they didn’t need to shave your head.    
Your beauty remains.   
Unscathed.    
Untouched. 

I run my fingers through your hair, twirling the strands absentmindedly.    
I’ve tried tying your hair back, but it tends to get in the way nonetheless.    
The nursing staff keeps complaining about it but I don’t mind it. Either way, I can’t help it. I’m definitely not going to cut your hair. Even if it tends to wrap itself around the tubes. 

You knew that your long hair had fascinated me right from the start, didn’t you? The dark colour with an amethyst glow. It’s silky smoothness. And how something so soft to the touch could be used to throttle me.    
God, it happened so long ago it barely feels real anymore.   
The time when I was still so young and so alone. A time when you would come visit me and I’d get overly excited in your presence. And you would waste your time on an annoying and nosy and abnormally childish child. I used to pull your hair, didn’t I? Well, not after you’d wrapped it around my neck and proved to me that while you still believed me to be your salvation you’d make do with my untimely death if I’d keep bugging you, anyway.   
I wonder if you still remember that...

Your feeding tube needed adjusting but I decided on doing it myself. At first I hadn’t dared to touch the plastic tubes sticking out of your body. Whether I had been afraid of your condition deteriorating at my hands or it had been due to the increasing sickness at the sight of the deep red discoloration around the artificial openings cut into your body... either way, I’ve stopped worrying about both of them.   
It seems I’ve finally stopped caring; I’ve stopped feeling nauseous at the sight of blood or mucus or urine dripping from replaceable tubes...    
It helps not to think of you as a human being while replacing your catheter. Yes, I’m also doing that by myself since the medical staff would rather risk your catheter bag leaking than causing any disturbance while I’m paying you a visit.   
I can’t help but chuckle disdainfully. As if there was anything going on in here they could be interrupting... 

Whenever I force the urinary catheter into your urethra I prefer to pretend you’re not feeling anything. Otherwise it would hurt like hell, right? Having a tube brutally shoved into your most tender organ...   
But you really don’t feel anything, do you?   
No twitch.   
No matter what I do to you.   
I’ve struggled before with the insertion of your catheter tube. And I knew that I had screwed up whenever I saw the blood dripping into the bag, having supposedly punctured your bladder.   
But even then. Nothing.

No sound escaping from your cracked lips; the thin line they are drawn into never disturbed.    
Your limbs are now nothing but parts attached to a doll’s body. I can touch you. I can squeeze you.    
I can drag you around.    
But there’s nothing inside. Nothing living inside.

They can’t tell me whether you’re still alive. I must have asked the same question a hundred times over and over again. 

“Are you going to die?”

You’re not going to die. Definitely. Not here, not now. Inside this facility they’ll do anything to keep you alive by means of sticking needles and tubes and electrodes into you and fit you up with artificial organs, pumps or ventilators.    
They’ll keep you running. One way or another.

I clear my throat and try to swallow. Today I can barely breathe while looking at you.

The silence, the dead silence is driving me insane. The only company I might experience is the lifeless beeping of the cardiac monitor. But that would be worse, wouldn’t it? Constantly reminding me that you’re only alive inside a machine...

My fingers bury themselves in your blanket instead of going for your throat. 

What I’ve seen... what I know...   
They say death is something to be afraid of. But death’s not something.    
Death is nothing. Nothing at all.    
Life is  _ something _ . Something stirring, something moving. Ablaze or flickering it may be.   
A ripple.   
A response.   
Just something. _ Anything _ .

The pain in my chest gets worse as I get up. I feel the pressure upon my ribcage as if an invisible force tries to squeeze the life out of me. And it’s spreading, the pain increasing.   
I stumble forward, pushing open the door. 

There are days lacking hope.    
You told me about dark days, rainy days, days lacking hope.

Today the sun’s shining and I can’t stand the sight of your decaying body rotting away before my eyes.

Fleeing the hospital I know that I won’t find sleep tonight without my calmative agent. And that the tears will have dried by the time I’m sitting by your side again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edo's world takes a darker yet..  
> warning: dub con/non con

Guess what?   
Another pamphlet. One of the nurses couldn’t help but thrust another brochure into my hands, unobtrusively entitled ‘How to take care of someone in a coma’.   
I must have read that one a hundred times before. But no matter how many times I throw it away magically it will be waiting for me on your bed side table again.   
I wonder what they’re trying to tell me...

‘Taking care’ relating to an ordinary person, not one of the half gods in white coats, revolves around ‘normal’ and communicative daily tasks, like reading or talking to the indisposed person.    
Mh. I might as well read that pamphlet to you. You don’t mind, do you? With you being the person I’m supposed to be looking after it might be of interest to you as well.

“Taking time to visit the hospital and read to, talk to, and even play music for the patient is important...”

I don’t suppose you’d want me to play music in here. I must admit that I wouldn’t even know what kind of music you’d care for. Somehow you can manage a life-long friendship without bringing up the topic of musical preferences.    
Apart from that you wouldn’t be hearing much of it anyway. It’s me who is forced to listen to it. So I should get to decide what we’re listening to.

I kneel down beside Saiou before heaving up his chest and arms to reposition him on the bed.   
A matter of preventing pressure sores. That and to have you facing my way so I can at least pretend that you’re paying attention.   
I snuggle up closer to Saiou, dragging one of his hands onto my thigh and petting it gently.

Either way, you know that I’d only play tasteless and awkward songs. Come to think of it I’d probably play “I can’t decide whether you should live or die” in heavy rotation until one of the attendants will kick me out.    
You can’t expect me to be serious all the time...

I admire your lifeless features thoughtfully as I brush a strand of hair out of your face.    
The bruising on your upper lip has almost vanished alongside the swelling of your gums.   
Another procedure, for cosmetic purposes only as I’m inclined to believe, was performed on you the other day, as the medical staff had decided on rubber-stamping this operation as long as you are still on your current state.   
They did ask me for my opinion, though.   
I know that they didn’t have to. Being nothing but a minor contractual partner, in legal terms, I couldn’t give my consent on your behalf. But given that your sister is still in intensive care they felt safer with informing  _ someone _ of their proceedings.   
With me being your next of kin... they actually called me your ‘next of kin’ even though we’re unrelated.

No, that’s a lie. I’ve always thought of us as a dysfunctional family.    
A dysfunctional family of left over children...

Sorry. My mind’s been wandering again. No more of that.   
I’ll shut up now, I promise.

I didn’t agree to any of it. I let them decide what’s best for you.   
They assured me that the intervention was technically risk-free (and yes they hadn’t guaranteed that on your first operation. Or the one after that. Or the three emergency surgeries following the second one) and that a local anaesthetic would suffice.   
So technically you were awake during the intervention. In the same way that you’re technically awake right now.   
I cast a quick glance at your cardiac monitor and the still running EEG.   
Nah, looks like you’re asleep right now. Probably. I’m never too sure on that.

Either way, I wonder what it must have been like...

Defanged.   
They have defanged you, allowing the residential orthodontist to perpetuate his work on you, too.   
An inquisitive finger steals its way to your mouth to push your upper lip upwards and out of the way.

Strange.   
I still think it looks strange on you. The Hollywood-esque symmetrical smile your lips contort into when I pull up the corners of your mouth.   
As long as I can remember your canine teeth had been jutting, adding a feline edge to your smile. A sign of a neglected malocclusion in your childhood, I suppose. Well, considering what little I know about your family I wouldn’t have expected them to get you braces anyway.   
Still, it was... kind of cute. Though your fangs tended to get in the way when I was kissing you.

I retrieve my fingers to stroke your cheeks, lost in thought.

I can’t give it a name. It was something like a phase. Or an obsession.   
You remember it don’t you? That discomforting and extremely unnerving chapter of my life; well, of  _ our _ lives, actually.    
I had an unhealthy obsession with your lips. I know I did. I wanted to kiss you and hug you whenever you came within touching distance.   
Soon after you had become my manager I’ve been strangely attracted to you. Not you, as a person.   
It wasn’t love, I can’t call it love. I don’t think any teenager is capable of love before the age of sixteen in general. Before that it’s just pubescent fascination and morbid arousal.

You were so close to me all the time. Always within my reach. Whenever you’d sit down to sort out my schedule I’d try to sit in your lap, try to force myself onto you. And when I caught a glimpse of myself mirrored in your beautiful dark eyes, my face glowing with that strange alien excitement as I drew nearer, my lips ready to latch onto yours…

God. I’m still so ashamed of myself. I’m really sorry you had to put up with this, with  _ me _ in my irritating state. With the confused childish adolescent I was.    
But your lips were soft, so soft to the touch, I’d have to lie if I denied the sweet temptation of your intoxicating kisses. And even though you tried to keep me at bay, to shove me out of your lap, to draw away from me your kisses gave me great,  _ true _ pleasure.    
And then there was my tongue…

It was disgusting, wasn’t it Saiou?   
My constant attempts to stick my tongue into your mouth. It just made me so damn curious what it would be like. A French kiss. A French kiss, forced upon your inviting lips.    
My, I really craved your lips.

Well, you did show me.    
You were fed up with my unyielding attempts to kiss you, weren’t you? Or did you kiss me violently and forcefully rammed your tongue down my throat because you had expected me to shy away from you afterwards?   
I really wish you could tell me, Saiou; whether your kiss was a sign of your resignation or a retaliation.   
You wanted to choke me, didn’t you?

At the mere memory my skin starts itching. 

This time with you, where it was just the two of us, the time we spent in the safety of my former home, was precious.   
I must have dropped into your lap, as usual, and flung my arms around you while you had failed at fighting me off. I was probably licking your cheeks or nibbling on your ear because I knew that it pissed you off and somehow I enjoyed your resistance. But it was the feeble and shy stirring inside you I enjoyed the most. You were afraid to touch me, afraid of hurting me. Even as a boy, when I had first met you, you had been reserved. But reserve is no defence against pubescent pansexual feelings.

I had thrust my head forward, my lips pressing against yours. My tongue circling over your mouth desperately, begging to be granted excess.    
And then you had grabbed my head and instead of yanking it away you had pulled me closer, your nose smashing into mine as your lips had parted and your hot and dripping tongue had delved into my mouth. Your kiss was passionate and violent and lasted, as it had seemed, for an eternity.    
I can only remember pulling away from you, gasping and blushing and panting and, without a doubt, extremely satisfied, the musky smell of your sweat clinging to me as well...

I breathe in deeply while closing my eyes.   
The acid smell of the cleaning agent really keeps you from dwelling on memories for too long. And it stings my eyes.   
It has its way of constantly reminding you that you’re sitting in a hospital room. Beside a comatose patient in ICU.    
It’s worse than the beeping of the cardiac monitor. I’ll go open a window before my eyes start to melt. You just tell me when it gets too draughty, alright?   
Hah, am I in a good mood today...

Wait, scratch the last thought. I need to empty out your catheter bag first. Though the smell of urine wouldn’t be so bad compared to the stench of the cleaning agent... 

A high pitched alarm rings in my ears. It won’t stop before I’ve slapped my wrist.   
My gaze drifts over Saiou’s features.   
Nothing.   
Not one twitch of a muscle. And back then as my manager you had hated the sound of alarm clocks...

“A reminder so I won’t forget about the part I’m allowed to play in your daily care routine. You know, just in case I forgot about your vegetative state because I’ve been chatting away so nicely with you...” 

I growl under my breath, scolding myself for that comment. 

“Sorry about that. I’m not really used to talking to you while you’re unconscious. But the nursing staff promised they’d ban me from your care if they ever caught me performing my tasks in silence again. They said I need to talk to you during all of the procedures. Even though this way it’s probably more awkward for you than it is for me...”

“Okay,” I say aloud, unable to drop my suspicion that those nosy bastards are eavesdropping, “If you don’t mind you’ll be transferred into a more comfortable position now. It will hopefully keep you from becoming bed sore again. There. I hope that’s better...now, considering incontinence care...”

I can barely listen to myself monotonously vocalizing my actions step by step. I feel a fool talking to you like a small child. Or a stuffed animal.   
I don’t mind changing your diapers (which we’re spared today because someone else has already taken care of that matter, apparently) or clearing your airways (which appear to be unblocked, another check on my list) but I try to perform each one of those daily tasks with keeping both your and my dignity. Saying out loud what I’m about to perform doesn’t fit in there; either you already know what I’m doing (because either one of the nursing staff or myself has done this innumerable times before) or you’re really brain dead.    
Okay, that was in poor taste.   
See? See why I don’t like talking...?

Good, everything seems fine. I think. 

Nothing left to do for me but emptying out your catheter bag, as always.   
But something’s different this time.   
I felt something while carefully removing the bag. Your nether regions are...    
I grab hold of your cock, adjusting the small tube disappearing into your body.

A twitch.

I hold my breath, a shiver running down my spine.

Was that...you? Are you reacting to my touch?   
Saiou, are you responding to me?

Numb fingers palpate the delicate skin of your manhood, desperately rubbing and brushing against it inch by inch.

There it is again.   
I feel your tender flesh twitching in my hands.

You can feel something, don’t you? For fuck’s sake Saiou, you recognize my touch!   
Your limb stirring restlessly in my hands...

I tug at the tube cramming your cock before yanking it out, my patience running low.

I need this. I thought I didn’t know what I needed but I need this.    
Right now.   
Carefully I climb onto your body, sitting down in your lap. Straddling you.    
Trousers tightening I grind my hips against your firm erection.    
I need to feel you.   
I want your body to heat me up.

A lewd groan escapes my lips; I buck up into my own hand, my concealed cock rubbing against yours. It’s chafing against the thick fabric unjustly covering it. I need to unzip my trousers in order to free my throbbing member, to reunite it with yours. 

_ Fuck. _

I bite down on my lower lip, my hand guiding the unsteady movements of our pulsating cocks, thrashing madly as I press them closer together.    
I try to keep my voice down, try not to start panting and moaning; at least not more than necessary.

I don’t need to search your face for any expression; I know you won’t show me your affection by approving of my actions. Hell, if your hard-on doesn’t mean consent I don’t know what else could. I’m making you feel good, aren’t I? I know that I’m making you feel good.

You’re giving me all you can, you’re proving to me that you’re still there, that  _ something _ ’s still inside and alive.   
But I need so much more from you Saiou   
Please don’t stop now.    
Let me feel that you’re alive.

I’m holding onto your hips while pushing back, rocking back on your bare thighs. My head sinks lower, strands of my hair brushing over your nether regions.   
You’re ticklish, aren’t you?   
So does that feel good?   
I cannot help but smirk.

I’m surprised by the warmth of your pulsating flesh. It feels good to the touch, good on my cheeks as I rub up against it, purring with delight. I need to feel your length, your beacon of life. I need to taste its warmth.    
With my tongue slightly sticking out I lunge at your throbbing cock and cram it into my mouth.    
That feels good, doesn’t it?    
God, its oozing already, the pre-cum dripping from my lips. I pick up a steady pace, my tongue twisting around your hot skin. 

Were you waiting for me to touch you, to satisfy you? Have I been neglecting your needs all this time?   
Do you really want me to do this, Saiou?   
I don’t mind if you come in my mouth, really. I’m well aware that you can’t pull out in time so don’t hold back. This really ought to help you relax, even in your current state.

I swallow, but not with disgust; I suck and lick at the desired object, tracing the veins with their constant throbbing; your heart beats fast, doesn’t it Saiou?   
Are you going to come?

For a split second my eyes swivel over to the bedside table and the package of lubricating gels still there. If only one of the containers is still inside…

Your cock slipping from my mouth I sit up and grab the box excitedly, my heart thumping in my chest as I rip open one of the sachets. I dispose of my clothes, fast, carelessly and without thinking at all, before grabbing your erect member with one hand and massaging over my delicate rear entrance with the other one.    
Don’t come Saiou, you can’t come yet. I’ve never thought I’d pray to any God for this, or anything else, actually, but right now I’m praying that you last a bit longer, just a little bit longer. 

“Saiou,” I hear myself whispering, enrapt and distant, as if listening to a far away voice underwater, “I need this. Please, Saiou, you need to hold on just a little bit. I need you inside me. Saiou…”

My voice trails off as I stretch my tight anal cavity by dint of the lubricating gel. I know it’s put there for your catheterization but you wouldn’t mind me borrowing it right now, I’m sure.    
Fearing your arousal might slacken I keep licking the tip of your cock, delighted at every drop of its precious liquid it leaves on my tongue.    
Just a bit… I need to stretch it just a little bit more…

“I really want your cock, Saiou,” I keep hearing myself babbling, “I want it so deep inside of me. I want you to cum in my ass, I want to feel you shooting your load in there. Please, Saiou, I need it so badly…”

I scramble up, lowering my weight onto your stomach while brushing my backside against your firm erection. I try lubricating it with what little remained in the container before shoving it in, slowly and pleasurably.    
I feel my anal cavity tightening around your length but I keep pushing, determined and desperate, until I feel your pulsing member conquering my hole. I can’t help but groan and gasp at the thrilling sensation, the sticky hotness spreading through my body.   
I try not to think, just feel you inside me, feel your warmth, your moist skin rubbing against mine.   
I ride your cock fast and intensely, leering through half closed lids at your beautiful features, your closed eyes, your content expression.

“Fuck,” I stammer between groans, “This feels so good. I love your cock, Saiou. I just love you…”

I grind against your haunches rhythmically, my baser instincts completely in control.   
I masturbate while riding you, struggle to keep the pace with you, moan sigh and yelp completely caught in my own pleasure, knowing that I can finally please you, that I can finally feel you, the spark of life in your body.

I find my release on your stomach and watch, gasping, drooling and temporarily brain dead, my cum dribbling over your skin and into your navel.    
Does that count as me coming into your hole, too?

I keep riding you as not to deny you your pleasure. But soon enough I feel the electrifying shock quivering through my body as your warm semen shoots into me.    
There’s just a moment of doubt; a moment in which I fear I might have overstrained your bladder.   
But given the sudden and brief spurting of your cock I know that you’ve been ejaculating; and I find my thesis confirmed by retrieving your limp member.

I wouldn’t have minded you peeing inside me. It’s not your fault. If it had happened it wouldn’t have been your fault. You wouldn’t have been to blame.

I clean your manhood before catheterizing you again. But I don’t want to wash your body. Not yet. The smell, the sweet and sweaty smell,  _ your _ smell is still clinging to it. I haven’t had that sensation in weeks. It’s you, alright. I can feel that it’s you. And you’re alive.

I crawl over to your side, placing tender kisses on your lips and forehead. My face nestling in your neck, in your slightly sweaty hair, I cuddle up closer to you. Stroking your soft skin.   
I want to stay close to you right now. Just a little bit longer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopes and an unfortunate set-back

We’re not going to talk about last time.    
I certainly won’t. And given that your readings haven’t changed you’re not going to talk, either. About anything.

I sigh, deeply and with regret. I wish you were awake to slap me in the face for that comment.

I just can’t help being myself sometimes. I tend to be ill-natured, sarcastic and have a dark sense of humour. But I read in one of those brochures that it’s important for a comatose patient to be treated and talked to normally. Therefore seeing me acting all cautiously and tactfully would be irritating for you, don’t you think? It certainly wouldn’t be normal for  _ me _ …   
Yes, the nurse shows concern considering the silence dominating your room during my visits.   
And though I personally doubt that I talked too little while I was…well, let’s say channelling my needs by considerate use of your body… mh…that makes it sound very wrong…    
Either way, I don’t suppose she meant me moaning softly into your ear while I assisted you with laying a pipe.

I clear my throat and straighten my jacket.   
I swore I wouldn’t be talking about last time and I’m going to stick to my promise.    
Instead I suppose I might as well read to you in order to provide your hibernating brain with the stimuli it requires.   
Something like that, anyway.

I stop toying with the grubby book I found lying around outside and flip it open at random.

“Like their male counterparts, lesbians are handicapped by having only half the pieces of the anatomical jigsaw puzzle. Just as one penis plus one penis equals nothing, one vagina plus another vagina still equals zero…”

I flip through the pages. 

“Different forms of frigidity…sex perverts…how does gonorrhoea act…?”

The book snaps shut and I stare at it, bewildered.    
I guess the title ‘Everything you always wanted to know about sex- but were afraid to ask’ could have tipped me off. Well, honestly, it didn’t. I didn’t even cast a glance at it, grabbing the first thing I found lying around in the cafeteria.

I reach for Saiou’s hand and place it on my thigh, occasionally giving it a gentle pat.   
Awkwardly I clear my throat while thumbing through the book again.

“Well… I don’t suppose you’d want to hear about the reciprocal effects of prostitution and sex crime. Nah, that’s probably a bit too exciting for your current state. Alright. It’s either ‘Peeping Toms’ or ‘Pornography’. Your choice.”

My finger nestle to Saiou’s, stroking them amicably.

“Why am I doing this?” I ask you, as you’re the only one who can hear me. Apart from any medical staff eavesdropping.   
When it’s actually a question I should direct at myself. 

The reason I’m willing to read an outdated sex manual to you is because I care about you and want you to recover as fast as possible. I agree, it’s not evident, given the current circumstances.    
But I want you back. I need you back.    
And if I don’t concentrate on the pages I’m going to think our lives over and my eyes will start to water and I’ll probably start crying again and get your equipment wet and get it in a mess when I try to clean it, resulting in a) your room been thrown into chaos which b) gives your attending doctor a reason to tick me off.

My fingers grasp yours, tightly.   
I’ll better start reading. Otherwise my eyes will be drawn to your unresponsive face and then the tears will start falling on their own accord.

“Okay.”   
“Most pornography can be divided into two categories, visual and literary…”

Time sure flies while you’re around me; as long as I can be close to you.    
I peek over the edge of the page, my eyes taking in your peacefully calm expression. You do look peaceful Saiou, your body appears to have fallen into a soft relaxing slumber, completely at ease. Even though most likely it’s deceiving you…

The book snaps shut in my hands before I let it sink into my lap.   
I can’t help but wonder what you feel. What remains of your mind while your beauty prevails?    
I reach out, my hands crawling beneath your clothes, searching the warmth of your body. 

“Oh Saiou…”

I sit down on your bed, cuddling up to you.    
The touch of your skin reminds me that I’m not alone. It reminds me that you’re not here for me but that you’re here nonetheless. I don’t need your guidance. I just need the reassurance that not everyone I loved and held dear has moved on without me.   
I need to know that I’m not alone. 

“By the way,” I dare verbalizing my thoughts as they are neither too inappropriate nor intimate, though I have no doubt that you can hear my thoughts either way, “I appointed a new manager. He’s more of a personal assistant, actually. I’m not sure what your thoughts are on someone else taking up your position while you’re bedridden and apathetic. And I really don’t want you to feel irritated because of that matter but… I need someone to handle my career. I can’t handle my paperwork and all that organizing just on my own. I hope you understand.”

I lean over your face and kiss your forehead, gently.   
“You can still be my manager…if you want to…”   
Just not as operating manager. You’re more like… a pet sanctuary’s resident. Or a good luck charm.   
I know that if you could you would hit me so hard right now…

I couldn’t compare my life with yours and, honestly, I wouldn’t. Our upbringing differs too much, the devastating losses we’ve suffered without equal. But we were still the same, though. We were equally miserable. And, probably, we both had lost our faith in humanity.    
Yet while I couldn’t trust anyone following the death of my father… realising that DD, who I had deemed my protector, was the murderer I had been searching for, that I had stared the faceless monster straight in the eyes all this time…   
After that I couldn’t even trust my judgement, couldn’t even trust  _ myself  _ as I had been betrayed too easily.

I close my eyes and chuckle, my cheek brushing against yours.   
Of course, if you could talk, you’d tell me now that I’m a self-centred egomaniac who has to excel everyone. And that there's no sense in telling me so because I already know it anyway.

I kiss your cheek softly, tentatively, before daring to place a soft but extremely wet kiss on your lips.

Still.   
I wonder what’s worse. Having your parents casting you out and chasing you away or having them dying on you while you’re still too young to have told them how much you appreciated all they’ve done for you?    
True, I know my father loved me till the end. But that’s it. I know he always would have loved me but I know that he can’t, with him having crumbled to dust.    
At least you still have parents somewhere. Possibly. Well, if they’ve already died you could dance up a storm on their grave or perform a Kuji Goshin Ho, or perform any kind of incantation you see fit, to make sure their evil spirits will never return. I’ll even buy you the Ofuda talisman needed.   
But jokes aside, I wonder if your divine powers let you know that they were going to kick you out…

I stretch with a quiet groan and try shifting into a more comfortable position.   
Well, those were enough insults for today, don’t you think?   
I’ll be good, I promise. 

“So,” yes, I’m down to talking again, “Technically speaking you’re still my manager and I’m going to keep you. But don’t worry, you don’t get paid for nothing. You still serve me a great purpose.” I lean closer before whispering into Saiou’s ear: “Mostly you keep me from becoming mentally unstable. If I wasn’t here day after day to sit by your bed, keep you company…Seriously, we don’t want to know what might happen if one of us decided on leaving the other’s side.”

Well, that could only be me. You’re not planning on going anywhere, are you?   
Okay, I really need to stop. You’ll get a rain check for my visit being insult free.

But I really meant what I said. I need you to remind me that we’re both still alive.    
I cuddle up closer to Saiou, my head sinking onto his chest.    
A pair of lungs, mechanically inflated. Keeps your brain from decomposing.   
A hand travels upwards, brushing over your soft nipples tenderly, only coming to a halt at the throbbing sensation on your neck.    
But your heart is beating on its own. It’s your way of saying that you choose to be alive, right Saiou?

I caress Saiou’s pale and soft throat, run my fingers over his warm skin. Try to forget about the respirator sticking out of his body.    
My eyes rest on the small bump taking shape beneath your shirt. Are your nipples hardening beneath my touch?   
They are protruding as I undress you, springing into action as my mouth closes around one of them, my tongue titillating the now pulsing flesh.   
I never knew you were so sensitive up there, too. Does my tongue circling your hardening nipple feel good? Do you feel the soft kisses I’m placing on your chest, the wet trail I’m blazing down your stomach? 

I find the answer in your building up erection. A curious smile plays across my lips, I can’t help but smile and feel my chest swelling with pride as I plunge into your nether regions, spoiling your twitching cock with a quick lick around the base.    
I breathe in your beguiling scent, toy with your delicate parts, longingly,  _ desperately _ . My lips attend to your testicles, nipping and kissing the softest skin, the tenderest yet ignorantly neglected zone of your genitals.   
With care I remove your catheter, still fondling and cosseting your nether regions.    
I lunge at your cock, scoffing it greedily, not minding the drops of urine still trickling from the tip.

You think that’s disgusting, Saiou?    
Last time your airway was blocked I had to suck out the mucus mouth to mouth …let’s not talk about this. It’s not really helping me getting into the mood. Not minding bodily fluids doesn’t mean I  _ need _ them. I, for a change, wouldn’t mind if I didn’t sweat like mad while having sex. It’s an unpleasant reminder having your cold sweat trickling down your back. And it sure messes up my hair. It’s like I’m stigmatized. Branded with both your and my perspiration.

I suck your cock at a steady pace, daring to push it deeper with every thrust.    
I feel my own erection stirring inside my tightening trousers, hastily making room for it by pulling them down, the tube of lubricant slipping from my pocket and falling onto the bed.    
For a moment I’m taken aback as I stare at the tube, my cheeks reddening, the blush constantly rising.

Do I need to feel bad for having lubricant with me during my visit? It did feel weird coming here with nothing in my pockets except for my phone and this… I know, I’m overwrought and the medical staff staring at me as if they knew what I was about to do must have been my imagination.   
Still…

I take a deep breath and shut my eyes; my fingers palpate Saiou’s blanket eagerly.    
I needn’t feel ashamed. This is none of their business.   
It’s between me and you. A secret. Something we both need to survive, this ordeal, this madness of existence. It’s welding us together, making us inseparable, invincible. 

When I touch your cock, when I feel you, skin on skin, hot, sticky and alive…    
I don’t know if you like me on top, Saiou.

Somehow it’s even less than a strain for me this time, I barely struggle shoving your cock into my rear entrance, barely wince at the forcefulness of your intrusion. It’s running smoothly, I ride your proud erection steadily and with pleasure, groaning softly. I grab your arms to feel you, shove your hands into my lap to let you feel me, too. 

It’s the softness, the sweet uncharted delicateness of your body I’m consumed with.    
I long for the closeness, the moments of security you give me. The delayed gratification, the satisfaction you must have been craving, I can give you.    
The bliss, pure unearthly bliss is thundering through my nervous system, causing me to moan and wince at each convulsion of your trembling cock.    
I reach for my own member to stroke it in time with my movements on top of you. Beads of sweat are forming on my forehead before trickling down my temples. My thighs rub against yours in agitating agony, soft skin chafing against sweaty hot legs. 

I wheeze and beg, lean down to kiss your cheeks and whisper lovingly into your ear…

Your limp member slips from my anal cavity, sagging back against your unmoving body.    
I feel my heart stopping, a chill creeping over my vibrating limbs.   
I kneel above you for a moment and catch my breath, irritated and frozen in the spot.

You went limp…

I scramble to my feet, shoving Saiou’s catheter in out of pure habit, paying no attention to the drops of blood soon dripping into his catheter bag.   
I get dressed, hastily, and stumble out of his room.

I feel empty, braindead. I’m too irritated to ponder over what just happened in your room; too scared to fully comprehend the meaning of your body’s reaction.    
Through my eyes the fuzzy greyness of the world spills into my skull. Too many fast movements blurring my vision, the noises too muffled and alien to be recognized.

A hand swoops down on my shoulder, patting it gently as I take a seat, automatically.

“… more compassion than anyone can show…it’s not his fault… have faith… have to stay strong… trust in his… better days… waiting for a response… and… it will come…”

I can’t help but snatch up parts of the one sided conversation, words of encouragement possibly addressed to me.

My mind goes round in circles.   
Was your abating erection a sign of rejection towards me?   
Or was your hard-on an involuntary muscle spasm in the first place…?


	5. Chapter 5

I keep waking up on the beach. It’s in my head. A place for us to dream…   
No. A place for  _ me _ to dream.

My dreams centre on the beach, on empty and deserted marine swaths.   
The solitude is suffocating me. The sand beneath my feet feels warm but unpleasant. The waves lap at the shore, monotonously, with a soft gushing sound. 

And shells; shells wash up on the sand. The ocean spews the unwanted remains onto the land, rejecting the fragile cenotaphs.    
I pick one up, curiously.   
They’re mere memories,  _ echoes _ of life… 

Nothing stirs inside. Just empty shells. In the dwindling light of our last sunset.   
Why did you leave me, Saiou? Why do I always get left behind…?   
I wonder if we’re both already dead but refuse to accept it…

* * *

I don’t recognize your beauty anymore, Saiou. I don’t know where it’s gone; but it’s no longer there.   
You look terrible.    
Like a disgusting doll made to look just like a human being, rotting away in your bed.

I come to visit you day and night; a visit to the hospital is part of my daily schedule as naturally as a mid-morning briefing.    
I finish work, come to you, sit beside your bed usually, to stare at you; I take care of you and leave you to get a goodnight’s rest without thinking of you.

No, I don’t think of you. The hospital’s entrance is like a magical portal; as I enter my mind goes blank, all thoughts are washed away. Or that’s just down to the strong smell of cleaning agent…   
And I sit with you, by your side, day after day, light headed and empty minded.   
But as I leave this terrible institution all fears are left behind. My doubts shed like old skin, disappearing into the world that still turns and works, business as usual, a world full of  _ life _ ...   
I manage to escape the depressing vibes these rooms shelter.   
Just for a night. 

I don’t look forward to my visits; it’s my duty to attend to you.   
But I don’t think breaking up the routine would do us any good, either. Reluctantly I still remember the dreadful nights I could have spent in hotels abroad. But I chose to fly back night after night, to be with you. To just sit beside your bed at three in the morning and stare at you until my manager would call.   
I wonder if you’re just a bad habit I haven’t managed to break yet.   
And I wonder how long it will take for me to break instead.

* * *

_ Criksh. _

The door slams shut, thereby putting as much room as possible between the nosy nurses and me.    
I rest my back against it, involuntarily bumping my head.   
I enjoy a deep and refreshing breath, probably the first one today, before my eyes are drawn to Saiou’s figure, resting peacefully on the bed. 

“My apologies. I didn’t know you were asleep. Did I startle you?” I ask, my voice laced with ill-natured humorousness, before taking off my jacket and throwing it expertly right beside Saiou’s pillow. 

“So,” I move Saiou a bit to the left to get comfortable beside him, “what did I miss? Let’s see. A fresh bouquet of flowers, which means you’ve had a visitor. Which means Mizuchi has been visiting you, given that you don’t have any friends apart from me. Tough luck.”   
God, I can hardly stop myself today.    
“Oh, and what’s that I see right beside the flowers? Another pamphlet left by one of those ‘Miss-know-it-all’s? How neat. They really shouldn’t have. Makes you glad you’re not awake, right Saiou? I would get sick staring at the same ‘informative’ brochures day after day…”

I take another deep breath, hoping it will help cooling down my brain as well. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. No reason for me to vent my anger on you just because you can’t fight back. Thing is…”   
I take Saiou’s arm and wrap it around my shoulder before lying down right next to him.

“Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about death …”

What a way to break the ice…   
But I’ve been pondering about it. It’s not just your state that’s deteriorating but mine as well.    
Look at me, indulging in verbal gaffes. A little stress at work is all it takes to make me snap. I seem to snap at a lot of people these days, much to my new manager’s chagrin. But unlike you he doesn’t know how to bring me to heel, he doesn’t tell me to go running in the rain for an hour or two or go screaming into the woods when I need to calm down.   
So we end up giving each other a hard time. And it gets worse by the day.   
I wish you could have a word with him. A silly thought, isn’t it? If you could talk sense into him, if you could talk and act  _ on your own _ I could finally kick that guy out…

I’m at my wits’ end. I’ve even toyed with the idea of calling a mediator into action,  _ anyone _ who will break this vicious circle of us getting on each other’s nerves. God, it feel so embarrassing. With you everything went so smoothly I never would have dreamed that having someone managing your appearances and taking decisions could be so bothersome.

I stare down at Saiou’s hand, bruised and needle-ridden. I can’t help but pinch his arm out of dissatisfaction and childish annoyance. The staff won’t notice another haematoma on your skin, I’m sure.

I’m getting mad at you for being here but not being there  _ for me _ . I need you Saiou. I’ve never felt so insecure before.   
I can’t talk about this but hope that my thoughts will reach out to you instead. You’re supposed to be psychic anyway, so it certainly won’t make a difference for you whether I talk.    
And I refuse to chat with you for the nurses’ entertainment.   
I don’t mind the silence in your room; today it’s helping me calm down.

“Do you remember our first visit to your sister?” I mumble into your arm while rolling to my side, clinging to your chest. I don’t know what sparked that memento. Not even worth remembering, right?   
“I remember those cookies your sister gave you. Tsujiura senbei. They were meant as gifts for both of us. But you kept them for yourself and refused to let me pick one. I knew that they were some kind of fortune cookies. But you, apart from emphasizing that you disapproved of them in general, replaced the one I had managed to snatch from your hands, stating that it was, in a way, ‘more appropriate’.”

I lift my gaze, my eyes grazing your calm features. I stroke the long dark strands of hair fondly as they come into view.

“Fortune cookies were baublery, a cursory entertainment at the most. In my carefree fascination with them you suspected a mockery of your powers. If I managed to get hold of them I remember you either swapping our cookies or throwing them away in the first place. You were offended by their open-endedness. And, to my annoyance, you would always spoil the surprise for me by reading out its content before I could have opened it.”

I nuzzle Saiou’s neck and cuddle up closer to him.

“I seem to buy a lot Tsujiura senbei lately,” I admit with a deep sigh, “It’s weird opening them without knowing what’s inside. To me it’s an alien experience.”   
I lift my head a bit to stare a seemingly sleeping Saiou straight in the face.    
“You know what? Next time I’ll buy one for you, too. And I’ll open them up for both of us and read them out to you.”   
And if you won’t snap out of your unconsciousness out of sheer anger I’ll know for sure that you’re long gone...   
Okay, scratch the last thought. I’m going to buy you one anyway.

“Which reminds me,” I half turn to rummage through my jacket before placing a small parcel on your chest, “I got you this. I... I just thought you might feel safer with them around.”   
I grab one of Saiou’s hands and drag it on top of it. Why I bothered to neatly wrap it up for you I can’t imagine.    
“It’s a pack of cards,” I explain further, “Tarot cards. I don’t know if they’re still doing anything for you. You threw your pack away saying that they had lost their power, I know. But...”    
I caress Saiou’s shoulders thoughtfully.   
“But I think that was a mistake. You shouldn’t have given them up. They were part of you. And even if you have lost your ability to predict my future... We met each other through your cards, remember?”   
Would you have tossed me aside this easily? If you could...would you have parted with me, too?

I snap out of my thoughts as I feel a lump forming in my throat and rip open the wrapping.   
“Anyway, I think they’re something your room is lacking.”    
I glance over the colourful portrayals, before selecting a card at random.    
Compared to the masterpieces your former cards had been these look feeble and chintzy. But I guess they’ll solve their purpose.

“Let’s see,” I inspect the card of the High Priestess I’ve picked closely.    
“I don’t remember you ever drawing that card. I’m at a total loss concerning its meaning. But tarot leaves room for speculations and associations, right?”   
Well, I might as well give it my best shot. 

“I see a woman. A woman of unknown age with feminine curves. Possibly beautiful, but that’s in the eye of the beholder I think. Is that part of the interpretation? Anyway, she seems radiant. Hopeful, perhaps? I can’t make out too much from her facial expression. She’s probably full of herself. Another Miss-know-it-all like the nurses sneaking around the rooms...”   
I scratch my head, turning the card this way and that.    
“Okay. Give it time. We can figure it out. These cards ought to be laced with symbolism, right? The High Priestess...She’s probably not only easy on the eye but smart, too. So it’s probably more about knowledge and wealth. Opulence. She leaves nothing to be desired... How about a wife? It could mean you’ll get married, eventually... Damn, I didn’t even pay attention which side the card was displayed. But that’s important right? Shit. If it was upside down, does it mean you’ll stay a bachelor?”

I sink back into the bed, tossing the card on top of the others still resting upon Saiou’s torso.

“I’ll leave the card reading to you, thank you very much,” I whisper into Saiou’s ear before nuzzling his temples. “Next time I’ll pick a card at random and read it out to you. You can figure out their connotation on your own, surely. What do you think of that?”

The serenity of your room calms my nerves.   
Unexpectedly I manage to relax while holding your lifeless body close to me. I’ve put an arm around your neck and cradle your head lovingly, my fingers combing through your hair.    
I should probably wash your hair again soon, Saiou.    
It’s not one of the easiest tasks. Neither is it classed necessary. But I think it helps your appearance; it makes your hair look fresh and looked after. In contrast to the rest of your body.   
Which reminds me...

I push back the blanket and check on the measures artificially supporting your health-related quality of life. Nothing new there.   
Your feeding tube looks different. A different colour, isn’t it? I’ve never been much for small details.   
Either way, doesn’t really matter. The rest seems fine.

I pull the blanket back over Saiou before shifting him slightly on his bed.    
I haven’t checked for pressure ulcers in a long time, I know. I just trust that the medical staff is taking good care of you. And I’m not too comfortable with shoving your unhandy body awkwardly around on the bed.   
I cuddle up to Saiou again.   
Thing is... I’m too scared I may injure you without even realising it. What if I accidently rip out your respirator or kink a pipe... or what if a tube snaps off? Will they be able to fix it before...   
Either way I wouldn’t dare to touch you again.   
What would I do without you? If I don’t have you to hold your hand and find assurance in your presence things might turn ugly.    
Furthermore I’m afraid my new manager wouldn’t appreciate boulevard magazines’ headlines proclaiming how a young pro duellist’s soaring career crashed over night after he tried to suffocate his comatose friend...

I chuckle before searching your empty face. My fingers entangle in your hair.

I don’t know if I’m comfortable with thinking about you in your current state outside of these four walls.    
But I will still be here to hold your hand.   
No matter how cold your are.


	6. Chapter 6

My eyes snap open, their momentary rest upon your cheek disturbed.   
A ripple in your skin.   
The muscles around Saiou’s eyes start to twitch.

I watch these beautiful heavy lashes of his rising as Saiou’s eyelids are shifting, as his wonderful amethyst eyes are displayed.   
I grab Saiou’s arm, my nails digging into his cracked skin.   
My eyes bore into him, bewildered and scared.   
The nurses warned me about this. You’ve recently managed to recover sleep-wake cycles.

“It’s called intermittent wakefulness,” I mumble, desperately trying to play things down, “Meaning you manage to open your eyes on your own accord to stare at nothing in particular. It’s not as if you would respond behaviourally to stimuli on purpose... It’s like a facial spasm.”

I gaze into Saiou’s eyes and hear my own voice trailing off. It feels so good to see him like this, to know that he is staring at me.    
“You’re still in a vegetative state, Saiou,” the words keep gushing but at this point I’ve stopped listening. My common sense has left for today.   
I fling myself into your open arms and smash my head against your chest, once, twice, overwhelmed by happiness, enjoying this intimate moment.   
The tears forming in my eyes slowly blur my view; I dare to breathe out, feeling at ease and somewhat relieved.

Do you see me now? Do you know that I’ve never left your side?   
My hands brush over your body, I rake my fingers across your chest, I bathe in the warmth of your skin.   
For fuck’s sake, I’ve never felt so alive before. Never has being close to you felt so intense.

I pant, growl your name with every breath, tug at your blanket, impatiently, my mind dipping into a strange light-headedness...   
Your catheter slips out of your stretched urethra, almost as if it fled your body.    
Finally I can feel you again.   
It’s your touch that I need, the touch of your skin. I love you unshaved; I caress the thick shock of pubic hair you present me with as my hands explore your body.   
I love you natural, as human and alive as you can be. And your unkempt and unwashed body is bristling with life. The beat of your heart throbbing in your cock...   
I close my eyes, concentrating on stroking your pulsing member in time with your heartbeat.    
I lick your shaft, nuzzle the side of your delicate organ gladly. I want to keep you up, keep you alive and active. I know you’d love to make the first move on me. What you could possibly do with that thick and violent cock of yours...

I love toying with your erection, pleasing you playfully. It’s moments like these when I take a breath to breathe your scent, breathe you and taste you so shamelessly. I live for those moments, the moments we get to share and feel each other. You’re feeling me, right, Saiou?    
If I keep sucking you off like this... do you want to keep feeling me?    
If you go limp...

“Please Saiou... please...”   
I whisper softly, my tongue drawing circle after circle around the base of your cock. “Show me your love... let me please you some more... that feels good, doesn’t it...? Didn’t you dream of me giving you a blow job...?”   
My lips part invitingly as Saiou’s cock slips into my mouth. I try to make room for his length, tantalize the thickly swollen veins standing out against his tender skin.    
Oh, I can feel you twitching inside of me.   
Saiou.

My head tilts back, your cock sliding out slowly.    
But I want to see you. And I want you to see me.    
“Saiou,” I whisper desperately while pumping the unstable erection presenting itself before me. 

It’s not as if he could react to my words. He doesn’t even know I’m here. Does he?

“Saiou, please,” I lap at your glans, eyes fixed onto yours, “Keep it up. I’m trying to make you feel good. Please, keep it up for me. I want your cock so badly. Please, I want you to cum into my mouth. You taste so good…”   
A wet noise. I suck at his cock again.

“It’s hot tight, don’t tell me you’re not enjoying it. Saiou. Please, Saiou, I want you to fill me up. Please…”

Later on I’m going to be so ashamed of myself; of my desperate dirty talking.   
I know I’m going to regret every word of it.   
But right now it doesn’t matter.   
It’s not as if I wouldn’t get turned on by this…

I unbutton my trousers and make room for my own demanding manhood bridling at its confinement.    
I pump both our cocks, try to keep them in sync, try to please you as best as I can. 

“You never would have dreamed of feeling my tongue down there, would you, Saiou?”   
He’s still staring straight ahead, eyes barely moving and unfocussed.   
He’s not looking at me.

“But,” I groan softly, concentrating on not blowing my load yet, “You loved my kisses, the fulsome affection I would drown you with. And when I dared to slip my sneaky tongue into your mouth…”   
I lunge at Saiou’s cock again, licking and pumping it vigorously.    
Your eyes… I don’t care if you’re looking down at me Saiou; as long as you’re looking at me…

“Please Saiou, I want you to cum. I need you to cum, I need you to feel good. Please…”

It’s not going to work, is it?

Patting my clothes I fish a pack of breath mints out of my trousers and pop a few into my mouth.    
Peppermint oil. It improves circulation and ought to give the skin that cold burning sensation. At least I think I read that somewhere.

Saliva is dripping onto Saiou’s cock as I work my way playfully around his glans.    
It might burn a little.    
But it should help you keeping it up.   
God, that was definitely too much peppermint; my tongue is a burning lump and every breath stings like mad.   
But you haven’t gone limp, Saiou.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” I ask, locking onto Saiou’s distant gaze, “But it ought to feel better any minute now. I’ll take away your pressing needs. Please Saiou, cum for me, do this for me…I need it…”

Saiou ejaculates suddenly and without warning. Warm cum dripping from my lips I feel stray drops bedewing my cheeks. But I’m too surprised by the sudden discharge to mind it.   
Beneath my fingers I can feel your heart pumping like mad.   
Oh Saiou…

Your head rolls to the left; you barely blink against the light.   
But I don’t mind you not looking at me. Not now.   
It’s wrong. It feels wrong but too good not to do it right now.   
I need your touch, Saiou. I need to feel you.    
I’ve cupped your hand around my throbbing flesh and I want my release to be brought on by you.   
I want you to make me cum, Saiou.    
I thrust into your hand, hold it in place with both of mine, grab your fingers so they press down harder on my jerking manhood. Yeah, squeeze it out of me.   
I need to come so badly.

And I keep whispering your name, I entwine one hand with yours to pump my cock while the other entangles itself in your hair, strokes your beautiful features.    
I whisper the sweetest promises into your ears, kiss your temples and unresisting lips.    
I cum into both our hands; my fingers close their grip around yours.    
And as I groan and pant and keep smothering you with kisses your head rocks back to the right and I stare into two empty holes.   
Nothing but violet abyss gaping behind it.


	7. Chapter 7

I’m not alive, am I?   
Let me rephrase that. I’ve got a pulse and I breathe, obviously. But...my mind isn’t bristling with ideas, alive with emotions, tantalized by curiosity’s seduction...    
I just do what I’m told; I do what I’m used to.   
I smile, I bow my head to people, shake hands... Day in. Day out.   
The strange bizarreness that is life right now passes before my dim eyes.   
But it doesn’t take much to be alive, does it? You don’t need much. A bunch of tubes and a respirator is all you get by on.

I was at a banquet last night, with my new manager. Or was it a champagne reception? It doesn’t really matter when you’re not old enough to drink and feeling too nauseous to choke down anything.   
I don’t think I spoke to anyone; at least I can’t remember ever talking.

The location was extraordinarily lavish; too big, too ostentatious and too bright. Glistening chandeliers, that kind of thing... but their light was cold, the glow artificial.    
And a sputtering fountain, with iridescent lights gleaming inside, transforming each cascade into a glittering veil, in the middle of the room. I preferred its roar over the chit-chat which it, fortunately, managed to drown out.   


And I kept staring at the ceiling mesmerized by the pattern of light, constantly taking on new shapes and waving across the room.   


I can’t recall what it was that fascinated me. I must have made fool out of myself, regarding the moving light with such interest. But I couldn’t stop looking up.   


Just like you, last time I came to visit.   
I don’t know what it was you were seeing. And I sure hope that, whatever it was, you were pleased to see it.    
I was pleased to see you opening your eyes.    
Even if it doesn’t prove that either of us is alive.

We’re not too different after all, are we?

* * *

Today you won't open your eyes for me. But that's fine. There's not much to see anyway, dark clouds keep crowding the sky, their ominous rumbling vibrating your room's windows. And you needn't look at me to see me the way we know each other. 

Way back you told me that you didn't need to see me with your eyes, eyes that glimpsed into the past and the future  _ all the time _ ; you'd know that I was there because you could feel my presence. And if that's true then I know that you can sense me now. 

"I brought some music with me," I lay the CDs down on your bedside table and reach for your hand, "I'm not really in a talkative mood today…but I guess the silence can become boring, too…"

I struggle to speak my mind, struggle to think. This has happened before, Saiou. And it scares me. I'm scared of my mind, scared of what I might find deep down, buried inside. And I wish we could talk about it. I really wish you could still guide my fate. Guide me. Protect me from myself. 

"But that's what we did, isn't it Saiou?" I hear the words before realizing that they've come from my own mouth, "We protected each other from becoming what we were destined to be. We kept each other safe. Saved us from ourselves."

My words echo in the emptiness of your room. The cold steely feeling crawling over my skin forces me into switching on the CD Player. 

I force a smile onto my lips as I take a seat beside you on your bed, "I told you I didn't want to talk today." And I chase away the silence with melodies. 

"Mizuchi gave it to me," I explain. I don't know what the music's doing for you but it helps me calming down, "she got the CD from a friend. She says you have a terrible taste in music so you should enjoy this."

Saiou's head rests on the arm I've draped around his shoulders. I press my temple into yours, trying to get comfortable. Trying to be as relaxed as you. 

_ Time to go. Taken it slow… _

I listen. Mesmerized. Terrified. Almost disgusted.

_ You're too shy. You can't even say goodbye _ . 

I try not to look at you and wipe the tears away before they bedabble your skin. I kiss your cheeks to assure myself, to find comfort in our closeness when cold dread is all there is for me. 

_ You can't even say goodbye…  _

I manage to leave your room before being violently sick.

* * *

I got drenched on the way home after leaving your room without a single word. Poetic justice, eh? 

Though you'd probably call it poor equipment. Or incapability to read the weather forecast correctly. 

Your gift, your ability to tell the future, never kept you from checking the newspaper. Which I found odd. I'd expected doing something as mundane as reading weather reports was an insult to your pride. But maybe you wouldn't want to risk getting your cards wet… 

But you know what? I did bring an umbrella with me. And I put it up. And the loneliness it created by shielding me from the rain and separating me further from you, you in your room, in your bed, not by my side, unable to hold an umbrella over my head, caused me to toss it into the gutter and dash through the rain, howling and screaming your name. 

But do you want to know something else? I felt a lot better afterwards. The quick run did me good. It was refreshing. So was the hot shower afterwards. I haven't slept this well in weeks. 

Until you're back I'll be ditching umbrellas and opt for running from the rain.

* * *

Dreams are important, aren't they, Saiou?

They change, you said, as we change. And sometimes they change us. Anyway, I always found your inclination towards dream interpretation out of place for a tarot reader.

People interpret dreams to nurture their perverted desires. Or the perverted fantasies of their clients. Or explore them to both of their satisfaction. 

I don't see the point in dragging the subconscious to light. If it doesn't want to show itself there's probably a reason for it. Also most of my nightmarish dreams boil down to my inner child's incapability to accept my father's sudden death. There are no hints of trauma; it's painted in neon colours over the door of my dreams. 

But you believed in dreams as warped premonitions. 

Last night I dreamed of you, Saiou. 

You were laid out on a table before me and I was in the process of changing your diaper. Just me and you, on the table, nothing else. It wasn't just darkness around us. A vast hollowness like the dead depths of space. Perhaps there were stars around us, too. I'm not making this up, I swear. It was just… With you before me I didn't care for anything else. I was washing you and wiped your body clean. Then I pushed your legs up to sodomize you and cum into your arse. Then I wiped your body clean again. 

Well, what do you make of that, Saiou? 

You'd probably tell me that's not a dream that needed explaining as it is already a perverted fantasy. 


	8. Chapter 8

Seeing your eyes open brightens up my day. You greet me with a stare; it's almost like you're focusing on me. God Saiou, I'm so excited!

A smile wouldn't impress me. Having witnessed the various spasms your limbs have passed through life thaught me the importance of deliberation, of  _ wanting _ to do something. Your facial expression can change for all I care; it's not real. I don't know if it's involuntary or not. And neither do you, I expect.

But a  _ stare… _ that's a choice, Saiou. You can choose to keep your eyes shut and cut me out of your life. Or you could stare straight into space, ignoring the world around you and lock yourself in; which would eventually result in you becoming immune to visual stimuli and cause your mind to drift and slowly fade away. Leaving without ever going any place… 

I try not to get overly excited. I hope you recognize me,  _ remember _ me. But that would be asking too much, don't you think Saiou? I won't push you on the path you've rediscovered. 

Your dry lips are a nuisance when I kiss you. Your mouth must still feel weird from the dental reassignment. And no matter how much I try to lick them for you your lips are always dry and flaky. 

A member of the medical staff suggested lip balm. But applying it is rather difficult; I need to pull up the corners of your mouth to tauten your lips, distorting your face into a mask of comical surprise. And it doesn't add to the experience at all when your eyes are open…

My eyes barely graze upon the case sheet at the foot of your bed. I wouldn't know what to make of it anyway. Doesn't matter; I have my own kind of medical check up procedure. 

Annoying bleeping sound indicating your heart's doing fine - check. 

Mechanical lungs wheezing - check. 

IV drip dripping - check. 

Stupid cables I manage to trip over every time which are connected to the blinking control panel that appears to serve no other purpose than being a death trap (seriously what is this thing?) - check. 

Unresponsive patient - check…   
Sorry. Couldn't stop myself there. 

"I talked with Mizuchi the other day," I say, sitting down beside you, drawing nearer to caress your hand, looking at you while you fail to follow me with your eyes, "She said she caught a glimpse of my face after I had found your room deserted only to learn that you were undergoing an operation during the time I had chosen to come to visit you. And she really didn’t like the way I looked."

I place Saiou's hands in my lap and squeeze them, gently. 

"Strangely enough Mizuchi and I have never been close. Even though she’s the most precious of your possessions you’ve kept me away from her. Or, as I suspect,  _ her _ away from  _ me _ ."

As expected you fail to comment on that matter. But you could have tried to look guilty.

"You didn’t trust me with her, did you? Expecting me to be a randy bastard chasing after every skirt, eh?"

I run my fingers through your hair before draping it over your left shoulder. You don't seem to mind. Just like you don't mind me giving you a peck on the cheek. 

"I've been thinking, Saiou," I say and bite my lower lip, half expecting a snarky comment from you, as usual when cognition on my behalf is involved, "about us. About us being…what we are. And where we are now."

God. That sounded even cheesier than I had expected. I try to follow through with it without throwing up. 

"You know," I stroke your face, your neck, run a finger over the colourful love bites I've been embellishing you with, leaving you something to remind you of me when I can't be by your side, "there never was a time for us to talk about… well, it never was the right time. Not for  _ us _ ."

Bleah. I'll spare me the disgust to elaborate. You get my drift, don't you, Saiou? 

"And I'm not sure our time will ever come, that we'll get a chance to choose for our own good… but that's okay. It really is, Saiou. Right now I can choose for both of us. And I choose to be close to you. I choose to be here, to watch over you, to hold your hand through ungodly hours… For now I'll choose for you too and guide us through this… As you did for me I'll now guide your fate…"

I swing my legs onto Saiou's bed and cuddle up to him, unable to hide my proud smile. 

"I choose you to be mine… and if you could I know you'd do the same thing for me…But you can't expect me to wait for you to say it, can you? I need to be with you right now. And you'll need me too."

I grab your chin and pull your face towards mine. Our lips meld and merge pressing into each other oh so gently. You reward me with a shy kiss, Saiou. I couldn't be happier than in your arms right now. You don't have to hug me to your chest to show me your love; inside your heart I can feel it, I  _ know _ it. That you want me here, too. 

Your mouth tastes a little dry and bitter but that's probably a side effect of your medication. I don't mind it. I moisten your tongue and lick your teeth. I'm still getting used to your defanged kiss. I'll probably need to kiss you a hundred more times to accept it. 

I chuckle lightly, relaxed and happy between assaults on your oral cavity. I loved kissing you and I still do. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy… 

You swallow labouredly, your lips barely twitching. But they are twitching, trying to close around my mouth. You want more, don't you, Saiou? 

A hand steals it's way underneath your nightshirt and dares to tease your nipples. They spring to attention, hardening under my touch, protruding through your garment. If your windpipe was still intact you'd start moaning and begging for more, wouldn't you? The first gentle touch in a long time… 

"Mh?" I straddle you to rub my face against your temples, to breathe your scent and run my fingers through your beautiful hair, "you like that, Saiou?" 

Your excitement becomes palpable; the soft flesh begins to stir, swell,  _ harden _ , roused by my grinding hips. You respond fast, eager,  _ hungrily _ . 

The warmth of your lap teases me. Involuntarily I reach for my crotch, wishing a quick touch and a transposition of my cock, violently repressed in my trousers, might do the trick. Unfortunately, and hardly to my surprise, this only makes things worse as the pressing urge to pop a boner is no longer a problem but an unavoidable necessity. 

I push up your hospital garments and struggle out of my trousers. I need to feel you Saiou, skin on skin. I need to feel your comforting warmth. 

I retrieve your catheter and align our quivering members, trembling fingers closing around them, embracing them tenderly.

Fuck. I need you. I've probably dreamed of doing this and done it countless times in my mind; which is the only sane explanation why I fumble around with my trousers until locating the lubricant concealed in a pocket and roll you onto your side without second thoughts. 

Here we go. Comfortable, Saiou? I rearrange the pillow underneath your head just in case. I see they've removed your feeding tube. That's good, right? In any case I wouldn't be able to hug you so close while spooning you. 

The only drawback is that I won't be able to see you. I really wish I could face you while doing this. But in your current state it's a physical impossibility. And I don't think it would be cushy. Besides, even if I searched your face you wouldn't reveal to me what's going on inside. How could I tell pleasure from pain? 

No, Saiou. You'll feel more relaxed on your side. It will be more pleasurable, I promise. 

An arm around your waist, reaching for your building-up erection, ready and waiting to stroke you in time with my thrusts. Stimulating your prostate will help you keeping it up. 

I'd have expected more difficulties trying to slip my cock in. I probably should have tried a digit first, slowly advancing via several fingers to the size of my manhood. I'm sorry Saiou; I always rush things. But you allow me to push into you with merely the faintest resistance. You receive my length unflinching, retain your composure.

I pump my hips and grind against your backside. More grinding than thrusting; that's more intimate, I feel you so much closer, feel the sweat dripping from where we meet skin on skin. And it keeps your limbs from jolting oddly in time… 

Your skin is burning, Saiou. It's getting so hot. I grunt and moan into the nape of your neck. I kiss the sweaty hair, nuzzle it longingly.

You would have expected me to retrieve my cock after each thrust before ramming it back to the hilt. I know you would, Saiou. But that's not shagging, that's showing off. 

It's far more comfortable to inch my way back and forth inside you while tilting and rocking our pelvises in perfect unison. I'm sure you find it more pleasurable, too.

I reach out, touch your cheek, caress your chin. Further south I masturbate you expertly. I snigger at my own choice of words. I've had enough time at my hands to explore my body since you were… gone. And the way your heart races and your veins keep throbbing underneath my fingers I'd say you're having the time of your life… 

Our torsos shaking, chafing, grinding on the spot. I'm entrusted with your body, tend you lovingly. Moments in blissful harmony. One arm clasped around your chest. I feel you so close.

I forgot to turn off your cardiac monitor but I've been oblivious to its beeping noise until now. There's a surge in your heart beat. A precursor of intense pleasure. 

I feel bad for seeing that it’s taking you so long this time. It’s been almost half an hour since I’ve retrieved your catheter so your bladder must be getting pretty full, given all the fluids they constantly pump into you. I can only hope that the pain isn’t too much for you to go limp again.    
Though…   
I wonder what unearthly pleasures convulse your insides as you’re getting jacked off with a full bladder. I imagine it does feel intense… extremely stimulating.    
Masturbating with a full bladder is just amazing, though it tends to stress me out as I’m getting really impatient about blowing my load. 

I'm close, Saiou. I don't know how you manage to hold out this long but I'm going to cream your ass any second now. Uncertainty flickers across my mind, for a moment only I wonder if you're okay with me ejaculating inside you. But I don't have any condoms on me and pulling out feels… wrong. Impersonal. No, we've got to stick with this. And I'll clean your body afterwards, I promise. 

I clamp down on your hips, grunting and cursing while grinding against you rhythmically, fast and completely senseless. I keep rocking you in my arms, unable to stop at the blissful sensation overloading my nervous system. 

Oh Saiou… 

But I stay focused enough to try and help you towards your release. I keep a firm grip on your manhood, industriously rubbing and squeezing the beckoning flesh. I shiver in the aftermath of pleasure, my limbs getting twitchy and numb. 

"Come Saiou," I whisper into your ear, moaning softly and, despite my efforts, blushing, "It's alright. It's fine. I'm here for you. I know you need this. Oh Saiou…"

Warm cum spurting into my hand. I can't help but crack a smile while coating the tip of your cock in your own semen. You made it, too. You didn't go limp. 

I wish we could stay like this forever. So close. At peace. I roll onto my back, my resiling manhood becoming detached from its cozy harbour. Your buttocks feels soft and slightly clammy but it hasn't reddened or grown sore. I turn my head towards your neck, strands of your hair tickling me. 

I hope you're not feeling too sweaty, like I do. Or smell. I sniff your skin excitedly and, yes, there's been an increase in perspiration on your behalf too. Not just your cock and your heartbeat, your whole body has become affected by me. 

I smother you with hugs and clingy cuddles. But seriously, do you think I smell, Saiou? For me an orgasm comes with an unhealthy amounts of sweat, hot flushes and muscular spasms. But unlike me you don't have to make it home for a quick shower for the unpleasantries to go away. 

I wrap my arms around your shoulders for repositioning purposes. Under my guidance you lie onto your back. We lie beside each other on your bed, eyes open and fixed at the ceiling when there's nothing to see; nothing to do than feel each other's presence and listen to our breathing. 

"Did you hear, Saiou?" I ask, reaching out and grabbing your hand to squeeze it tightly, "It's started to rain. We were so busy we didn't even notice. Now it's pouring." 

It doesn't matter what I say, love stricken, erratic, mind-blown. I'm talking gibberish most of the time. All that matters is that you're listening. 

And there's no rain that won't stop. 


	9. Chapter 9

Ugh. My head is so empty I'm surprised my thoughts don't echo. 

I can't remember when I've last lain on my bed when it was a bright day outside. But no doubt I've been crying then, too. 

I wonder if it's a bright day for you too. Or are you locked in the darkness of your own skull, Saiou? 

Is darkness something to be afraid of, I wonder?   
It's something you can see, something you can feel while all the same you can never touch it. Darkness has no shape. It's just there. But I don't fear it. 

Light. Light is worse.

Where there's light there's hope, right? 

No.

Hope lies dormant in the dark because you can't see what's hidden inside. You can still hope to find what you're looking for. Whereas light, unforgiving merciless light, lays bare, stripping away confidence layer by layer. Light is cold as it reveals life's true ugliness. 

Nothing to see but the annoying ceiling above. I'm starting to realize why you only seldom bother to open your eyes. 

The silence is driving me insane. I never thought I'd miss the sounds of your cardiac monitoring. And stupidly I do now. 

You're on your own now too, aren't you? It'd be unusual for your sister to pop by this late. But perhaps she's kind enough to take care of you now… 

I'm hollow. I thought I'd be raving mad or crying my eyes out by now. But instead there's nothing. Nothing for me to do. To say. To  _ think or feel _ .. 

Something's broken at my core. Or it has been ripped out alongside everything I was. I'm talking gibberish again, I know. Only that I'm talking to myself. 

Should I feel offended? I don't know what's worse: that I've been politely but empathically asked to suspend my visits until further notice or that they were uneasy on how to break to the patient's celebrity visitor that they don't want him molesting his comatose friend anymore? 

I don't mind being 'found out' even though they think what I did was wrong. I don't think it was but that's just my opinion. But the consequences… no, the  _ lack _ of consequences is what's really bothering me. If they knew, and they knew what was going on, all that snooping around and eavesdropping on us… and if they're calling it abuse… why didn't they stop me? Why wouldn't they protect you? 

Weighing your well being against bad publicity… I feel my stomach turning at the thought. 

If they didn't want me to have sex with you they should have ensured that the bed's springs squeaked louder… 

I manage a brief chuckle. It's disdainful but it's something. 

Jokes aside, I've been guaranteed the facility's discretion as there are concerns about both our reputations. Which is a business term for hushing things up. 

A salty crust framing my eyes. Like seawater it leaves your skin dry and disgusting. Seems like I couldn't hold back the tears while my mind's been wandering.

When I close my eyes it's there again. The emptiness. The seaside in my mind. Nothing but dead sand and empty shells. Even myself... 

Contrary to my adult views I used to collect shells. My father preferred it over me trying to outswim the waves or probing the beach's depth with worryingly sized holes. He never bothered to look twice at the treasures I had painstakingly racked up (quite literally; innumerable times I cut my fingers on a conch's vicious edge). 

Just once his brows had furrowed and he'd picked out one conch for a critical inspection. Then he'd smiled the smile of not wanting to inconvenience an irritable child (You know that smile… You always put it on when dealing with me) before asking me kindly to forego that particular shell.

Despite my protest he put it down; and I fell silent after seeing the little legs extending. The beautiful conch had been inhibited by a rather shy hermit crab. Only after its world had stopped tossing and turning, only after I had let go off it it had decided to show itself.

“You never know what's on the inside,” father had said, possibly a petty jab at egoistic childish little me or a parental drive against superficiality in general; what he meant I'll never know. But his words stuck with me.

“Even if it looks empty, like that shell... there may still be life lingering where you can't see it…Somewhere deep inside...”

God, I'm crying at the memory.   
It wasn't a touching scene back then. I remember kicking sand at my father before sulking under the parasol.   
But it is  _ now _ .

Life lingering...somewhere deep…

To you it makes no difference but I wish I could be by your side. Feeling your cold skin, warming it with my hands… a mirage of life…   
You won't even notice that I'm not there. Which is probably why I feel even emptier now.

All I can do is hope that you'll come back. That you'll find a way back.   
That there is still life hiding somewhere deep inside the empty shell that you've become.


	10. Epilogue

The world keeps turning; there are sponsors to be met, contracts to be signed or renegotiated, public appearances to be made…   
I hang up on Emeralda. With satisfaction. The world will have to learn to wait.   
I'm home.

I butt in like I always do. I see no sense in knocking prior to pushing back a door. It's my place. And there's nothing I haven't seen, haven't done myself.

Your carer is only slightly startled; or she's just getting better at hiding it.   
I know I'm employing staff to be there for you 24/7. I know I couldn't care for you on my own; I'm not strong enough, neither physically nor mentally. I couldn't bare it.   
Still. When I return home I pick up the chores, regardless of their nature.   
I take over and do whatever your carers are currently engrossed in.    
Right now I finish feeding you.

“I see we've already had our bath,” I stroke your smooth skin, biting back a sneer and smell your silky hair instead, “How nice.”

Saiou dares to retort an innocent stare.    
At present bathing poses the greatest challenge. You're scared of water. Scared of drowning, perhaps.   
Your reluctance to being washed in the bath tub usually peaks in only half of the water remaining and me being soaked to the bone.   
I'm thankful that that's been dealt with already, yet secretly I envy your carers as they seem to fare better.   
Next time I'll try dragging you into the shower.

Momentarily oblivious to your carer's presence, and against my detestation of publicly displaying my feelings, I nuzzle your neck and kiss your forehead.

I enjoy the lingering smell of your sweat. Everything's exhausting you nowadays, isn't it? But that's something we'll embark on together. 

My caresses tactfully ignored your carer assures me that it's alright to leave you in her hands.

I try to act grown-up about it and opt for a quick shower. They mean well. They're only doing their job. With us it's different.   
You're not my job. You're my responsibility.   
There's a huge difference. Mainly leisure time related. 

A quick shower and I head into my room, towel dried and, as always, retracing my steps in search for my clothes.   
“Oh my, what have they put in my bed?” I cooe, my sarcasm takes over when I spot Saiou already tucked in.   
“My brain damaged friend? Really, they shouldn't have.”

You roll your eyes, I smirk.   
Eye rolling and sighing have become your main responses. At least in my presence.   
You're recovering.  _ Rediscovering _ yourself. Knowing you it's only natural that your sarcasm would be first in line to be resurrected.

Your awfully sarcastic, eh?   
Good.

I slip underneath the blanket beside you.   
“There's that opthalmic muscular spasm again,” I add chuckling, teasing you, “I'll ask the doctor to have a look at it during your next examination.”

You turn over, lips stiff but...was that a groan? Did you really just try to snarl at me?    
I wrap my arms around your chest and pull you into a tight embrace.    
I don't care that you insist on chewing on my shoulder.   
I couldn't be happier.

Having you back is a blessing. Not just your unresponsive body but having  _ you _ back, in my arms, with me. 

It's been hell, life. For both of us. But we claw our way back out again inch by inch. You're recovering. At snail's pace, as I like to point out all too often for your taste. 

Yes, it's annoying that you're vocally impaired as your throat is still under reconstruction. Yes, it's scary that I'm solely responsible for your well being and I don't know how I'll handle it.   
You know me. Responsibility isn't for me. Or patience. 

And yes, I know your doctors don't approve of me trying to help you regain your voice by means of causing you to orgasm until you scream with bliss.

Or my tendency to call you 'my biting vegetable'. Obviously they're neglecting the fact that your behavior can only be described as vegetable-like and that you express your feelings mainly by use of your teeth. Emeralda would wonder what I see in you if I ever introduced you to her, wouldn't she? 

Or my self-invented method of wheelchair-less transportation inside my mansion (a cushion, thoroughly waxed floors and a strong push).

But you're cruel, too.

Last time we exercised your motoric abilities by means of waiting for you to grab a ball, close your fingers around it before letting it drop back into my hands. And I couldn't help my sarcastic self and add, "Oh wow, look at that, now you've given it back," or something like that while placing the ball in your hands again. 

Next time I turn away I see a ball rolling past me; it lacked the correct velocity and missed me by several inches. But as I face you and see your mock-innocent face I can't help but feel glad. 

You tried to hit me, you showed your frustration. And while I don't condone being aimed at I'm pleased to have provoked a response. 

And I'll try to be nicer and more patient next time, I promise. 

A convalescent patient by my side probably doesn't fit into my packed schedule. I'm torn between my career and caring for you. 

And wedged between those two gravitational forces there ought to be something else. Oh yeah. I remember now. Life. Plain, stupid, ordinary,  _ private _ life. 

But we'll get there. Together.

Eventually. Perhaps. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad to have finally finished this! (*≧ω≦*)  
> I hope you enjoyed this disturbing journey as much as I did.  
> Thanks for the comments and kudos. ❤️


End file.
